


Wild Ones

by flootiger



Category: Tokio Hotel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Not Related, Angst, M/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:54:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24387781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootiger/pseuds/flootiger
Summary: They were elite, they were notorious, they were all fuck ups.
Relationships: Bill Kaulitz/Tom Kaulitz
Kudos: 1





	Wild Ones

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Lana del Rey's first album. 
> 
> Originally posted to my tokiohotelfiction page on 24 September 2015 :)

A breeze picked up on the beach. Around him, the wind snatched up the laughter and drunk shouts of his friends and scattered them far away over the ocean waves. The fire crackled and Bill swung the neck of a small bottle of vodka between a thumb and two fingers, idly wondering if he should discard it into the flame.

Deciding it would cause a bit of an up-cry, he did, raising his arm and lobbing the almost empty glass in a spinning ark. With a crack like a whip and a roar of alcohol-fuelled flame the arms of the fire shot up into the sky, sparks exploding against the night.

A girl shrieked and Bill’s lip curled in satisfaction.

Then the party continued and Bill’s eyes turned dull as he watched the last of his trick die amidst the fire.

It was getting cold now and Bill shivered. Part of him relished how his body convulsed in the chill, the dead feeling that rotted his insides momentarily forgotten as his mind was forced to pay attention, forced to give a fuck. Bill had stopped giving a fuck a long time ago. Left at a young age to explore the eaves of his parent’s mansion while they jetted off to rule from distant skyscrapers and recline in faraway luxury, he’d grown bored by the age of thirteen, discovered his mother’s liquor stash at fourteen and become a vagrant in his own home by fifteen, traipsing around in search of thrills he knew didn’t exist. Now here he sat, on the eve of his eighteenth birthday, alone, empty, with endless years stretched before him he already didn’t want to fill.

His friends were all rich bitches like him, somehow they’d pooled together in opulent hangouts and glittering shells, blowing their trust funds on spirits and white powder. They were elite, they were notorious, they were all fuck ups.

“You got another smoke?”

Bill lifted his eyes to see Andreas swaying before him. The blond looked waif-like, his thin arms protruded from an over-sized t-shirt and dark circles were daubed under his eyes, bruised from too many late nights and not enough parental intervention.

“Sure,” Bill dug into his back pocket and handed over a pack. “Keep them.”

Andreas gave him a bleary smile, plucking one from the packet with shaking fingers. Bill watched disinterestedly as Andreas fumbled with the lighter, clicking it twice before the end of the cigarette burned orange against the darkness that cloaked them. His cheeks hollowed as he inhaled, sucking on the end like a lifeline. Then he reached into the pocket of his jeans, extracting a small baggy and holding it out between two fingers to Bill.

“You want?”

Bill eyed the crushed white powder that sat in the bottom of the bag. He could, but he didn’t want to tonight. He didn’t know what Andreas was offering and Bill was apathetically riding the buzz of his vodka, mellowing out enough to not want the sharp sting of cocaine flooding his system or the dopey feeling anything else might bring.

“No,” he told the blond, looking away and into the flames once more.

Andreas didn’t reply and a moment later Bill heard him stumble across the sand, a couple of their girlfriends cooing over the packet of cigarettes he’d returned with.

Bill had had enough. He needed out, he needed to leave the beach and go... go.

But Bill had nowhere to go, not really. He had a credit card in his back pocket loaded with thousands, a lighter, and nothing else. It made him feel detached, independent. Which was a fucking joke as he’d never earned a penny of that money himself.

A few of the crowd called his name as he departed, trudging unsteadily over the sand and hugging his jacket like a thin shield against the nip of midnight chill. Bushido hollered something about his fine ass and Bill threw him the finger over his shoulder. The older man was a sleaze, still riding his own parent’s fortune and choosing to hang out with Bill’s crowd instead of people his own age. The others tolerated him because he had connections but Bill hated him because every time he saw the other man he was forced to dredge up dark memories of hot pain and the red blood of his surrendered virginity. He’d been young, pretty and naive, fucked on his first pill and eager for the hands of someone else on him, desperate to ease the fervent heat that licked at his insides as he’d ridden the high. It hadn’t taken much persuasion to convince Bill to ride something else, just a few sweet words of flattery and suggestive kisses.

Bill sighed, his breath tumbling out like smoke.

At his back, the calls faded into the night as Bill left the party behind, wanting to forget Bushido, wanting to forget them all.

“Fuck them,” he muttered darkly.

The beach sloped up and Bill went with it, finally cresting the dune. For a moment he paused, trying to find it in him to admire the undulating mounds of sand that he knew stretched far beyond what the moonlight revealed. It was no good, for a brief moment he closed his eyes and stood, swaying in the wind and wishing for a miracle.

The skin on the back of his neck prickled and he opened his eyes slowly. Nothing had changed.

Silently, he turned, heading down the dune and into the car park that lay on the other side. When he had been very, very small he’d come here with their housekeeper. Instead of the eerie silver that painted the landscape it had been bathed entirely in gold, the sun’s rays reaching out to caress the beach and all its happy revellers.

Bill circled the car park. He’d hitched a ride with Natalie and Ria and they were still back on the beach. Bill didn’t care, he’d walk.

Just as he reached the entrance to the lot something caught his attention and he looked up. A noise, indeterminable, had notified him of someone else’s presence.

Another boy was leaning against the fence right by the gate, a motorbike gleaming in the moonlight before him and a cigarette hanging from his lips. Dark eyes bored into Bill and he stared back blankly.

“I’ve seen you before,” he finally said.

The boy lifted the corner of his mouth and smirked at Bill.

“Bill Kaulitz.”

“Yep.”

“I’m Tom.”

They stood in silence for several moments, the end of Tom’s cigarette glowing bright with each inhalation. Bill recognised the boy from school, when he deigned to attend. As far as he could recall the boy was new, and wasn’t going to be around for long. Whatever the fuck that meant.

“What are you doing here?” Tom asked, giving his cigarette a quick flick to rid the end of ash.

Bill watched the grey flecks float away on the light wind, then returned his attention to Tom again.

“Party,” he replied vaguely. “It was... whatever.”

“You leaving already?”

Bill nodded.

“You have somewhere to be?”

Bill shook his head.

Tom propelled himself from the fence, his feet crunching on gravel and sand as he sidled over to Bill, stopping a few feet away. Bill wondered if he wanted a fuck.

“You want a ride?”

Bill blinked. Around them the night was silent and something about the way Tom was looking at him made Bill shiver.

“Where are you going?” Bill searched Tom’s eyes, not really sure what he was looking for. Bill didn’t give a fuck where Tom was going.

“I’m leaving,” Tom said.

“This place?” Both of Bill’s eyebrows rose, unable to help the mild interest that crept into his voice. Tom was handsome and mysterious, Bill was not immune.

“Yeah,” Tom gave him a crooked smile and stepped closer. “For good.”

Bill lifted one eyebrow this time, regarding the strange, pretty boy. “Yeah okay.”

Tom tilted his head questioningly and dropped his cigarette. Bill eyed it and then moved closer to the other boy, grinding his heel deliberately into the butt until it was no longer burning.

“I want a ride.”

Bill watched, unmoving as Tom closed the final space between them and stood before him, curiously reaching one hand to brush aside the unkempt blond waves that fell over Bill’s forehead. He let himself be touched, gently appraised, and closed his eyes when a scratchy kiss was placed over his lips. It didn’t surprise Bill, people often kissed him. What did surprise him was an unexpected jolt that tugged at his naval.

The broke apart and Bill’s dark eyes held Tom’s steadily.

“I’m a fuck up.”

Tom’s lip curled into a grin. “So am I.”

Bill smiled. They climbed onto Tom’s motorbike, the engine revving loudly and splitting open the silence of the night. Cold hands gripped Tom’s jacket as they rode and Bill laughed.


End file.
